


An Unselfish Reason

by tocasia



Series: Our Shining Past [10]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen, Photographs, Sephiroth and Zack friendship, dealing with grief, gray days, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tocasia/pseuds/tocasia
Summary: Zack gets a package from home.(19. tears, holding, gray) for Seph&Zack Friendship 100 Themes





	An Unselfish Reason

Today was a gray day. Its sickly essence permeated the whole city, seeping into everyone's perception. Gray clouds covered the sky, neither the dramatic kind backlit with gold by the sun, nor the serene kind with several shades layered beautifully together. No, it was the kind of sky that blocked things out. The temperature was not quite cold and not quite warm; it was muggy. The convenience of dry streets didn't outweigh the ugliness of water-stained concrete. Even the halls of the Shinra building, always illuminated, radiated dullness.

It was an important day for morale.

* * *

Sephiroth walked into Zack's office. His second-in-command never failed to cheer him up.

Something wasn't right.

Zack had his chair swiveled towards the wall, staring at or beyond it, trying to pay attention to nothing. His breath was ragged. There was an open package on the desk.

"Zack?"

No answer?

Louder. "Zack. What's in the box?" It was sturdy cardboard with excessive tape and stamps attesting to its valor.

Zack turned the chair around slowly. Sephiroth saw his friend's tear-streaked face. Something terrible must have happened for Zack to cry like that. "It's... a package from home."

"Bad news?"

"My uncle is dead. It's been a month now but I didn't hear until today. The first mail from my folks in years... and for it to be this... "

Sephiroth remained quiet, waiting for the rest.

"Dammit! And seeing the things they sent me again, it hurts. They meant well but that makes it worse, because I shouldn't be mad... but after so long..." Zack hesitated, then shrugged and tried to laugh it off. "I... it's...."

Perhaps he should go, let his friend weather this storm of grief alone. He decided otherwise. There were reasons. "Tell me." He remembered just in time to add, "If you want to, that is. It's not an order."

"Sure, why the hell not!" Zack was trying to act tough. It sounded forced.

"Then I will listen." Or rather, watch... since Zack hadn't gone through the whole box yet.

"I never got to say goodbye."

Clearly, Zack had read the note already. Maybe he was rereading it to make sure it was the same, or to numb himself to the words. Sephiroth hadn't intended to see, but the light shone through the paper:

_...here are some things you might want to have..._

Zack set the note aside and lifted out a small plain chest, well-crafted of smooth wood. "This was mine, when I was a kid. I kept all sorts of stuff in here, my secret treasures...." He opened it, which also opened a new floodgate of tears when he looked on his memories. "I kept it at Uncle's house."

"I remember this lucky stone. I should have brought it with me...." Zack managed another weak laugh. "That's so ridiculous, isn't it?"

"No."

"And some feathers that I don't remember why I saved them... "

The colors were exquisite. Sephiroth would have saved them, too.

"...and Uncle's backup hunting knife that I swiped, because I needed to be cool." Zack turned it over in his hands, unsure whether to hold it or put it back as soon as possible. "He knew though, and just let me keep it...."

Sephiroth listened to the story of each childhood trinket until Zack pulled out a worn, black and white photograph. It was a good picture, probably taken by one of Zack's parents. At the edge of Gongaga, jungle in the background, a nice sun-dappled day. An older man with the bearing of a soldier stood there, smiling at the camera, gripping the shoulder of little Zack who was wielding a stick like a sword and couldn't have been more than seven, his spiky hair already unmistakable at that age. That's right. Zack's uncle was the one who'd taught him to fight.

Zack was shaking, trying not to get tears on the photo.

"Zack, here." He gave his friend a tissue. "Wait a moment." Sephiroth returned to his own office and sifted through the desk drawers. Where did he put that? It would be a perfect fit. Here it is. He came back as promised.

Zack took the small gray picture frame he offered almost reverently and said softly, "Why?"

There were reasons. He would never have what Zack had today. It was so wrong to be jealous of that but he was; he'd listened because he wanted it vicariously. He'd thought about what it would mean to have family, and the compassion he'd want in this situation; he'd listened from a sense of justice. It hadn't been his place to comfort anyone in Wutai or do anything for their grief; he'd listened to correct his own failure.

There was another reason, too, more important than the others. "It's what friends do," he said.

 


End file.
